Hey, Mr. Bigot!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

HEY, MR. BIGOT!!


By Philip Cairns


Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns



Hey, Mr. Bigot!

Why do you care what I do in bed?

Mind your own fucking business.

If I want to eat baked beans and stick a trumpet up my ass

Then play Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,

Why should you give a shit?!

I’m not asking you to watch my sexcapades on video,

For Christ sake.

Everyone’s gotta have someone to hate.


Maybe this faggy gay boy routine of mine

Is really just a ruse to pick up women.

If feel like Lily Tomlin in “The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe”.

One of her characters wears a T-shirt that says,

“Leave Me Alone”.


Hey, Mr. Bigot!!

Why did you bash my brother on the street?

I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from the football game on TV.

Hey, Mr. Bigot!

Maybe me and my friends in the Fruit Brigade

Are gonna hunt you down in a van, late at night.

Take you home and tie you spread-eagle to the bed

And cut off your limbs with a chain saw.


Oh, look what you made me say!!

I’d rather force you to do yoga

Or, God forbid,

Paint a picture of my naked body.

No, better not.

You might get excited and that would really blow your mind, baby.


I’m the kind of guy who swims with the dolphins

And watches Elizabeth Taylor movies on TCM.

You want to fuck her, Mr. Bigot, don’t you?

And I want to wear her priceless jewellery.


Hey, man.

Let me whisper in your ear.

“Just calm down and open your heart,”

I might be inclined to say.

I’m just trying to pay the bills.

Just looking for someone to love.

A man with feet of clay who won’t run screaming into the night

When I say, “I want to see you, again.”


Hey, Mr. Bigot!!

Get off my back and I promise not to climb on yours.

Get your hair streaked.

Bye a purple shirt.

Get some amethyst beads.

Take a meditation class.

Go beat off in a rosebush

But just fuck off and leave me alone.

Please!


I promise not to tell your wife when I see you on Church Street in drag.

I won’t tell anyone when I discover you in a dark car at midnight

Paying some teenage hustler to give you head.

Your wife doesn’t know that you go to bedbug motels

And pay hookers an extra $20 to give you a rim job.

Just lend me your red pumps.

No one needs to know but you and me.


Why was there cum on the bashed in head of the half-dead queer?

It seems, Mr. Bigot, that you really got off,

I mean REALLY GOT OFF,

When you cracked my friend with a baseball bat.


Hey, babe!!

I’d like to stick your head in my toilet bowl next time I use it.

Then you’ll know what it’s like to eat shit on a regular basis.

Forgive me.

Here’s a flower.

Let’s do lunch.